Merry voices and laughter could always be heard in the Bennett estate. But this morning, for the first time, it was sad.
Anastas woke up even before dawn. The room was morning-cool, smelling of starched bedding and blooming flowers from the half-open window. These smells were part of his childhood and the life he was leaving behind.
Thomas hadn't slept all night. He sat at the desk in his room, lit by a single candle, and looked at the letter. A few lines: "I am leaving. Do not be angry. I will return when I can. I love you and hug you tightly."
He understood that this was not enough. But he had no words that could truly explain everything. No, more accurately, he had them, and plenty of them, but he couldn't put them together.
He loved his family. His calm and caring mother, his father — silent, accustomed to expressing his feelings through deeds, not speeches. He knew his departure would be a surprise to them. Especially sudden, and especially without permission.
And yet, he could not stay. Not after learning that Anastas was leaving alone, and not after realizing that this, perhaps, was his only chance to be by his side.
Thomas was afraid. But he was not afraid of what awaited them on the journey; he was afraid that Anastas would close off again, push him away, and disappear.
He carefully packed his things, pausing for a second at the door of his parents' bedroom. His hand rose and fell. He left the letter on the table in the living room. And walked out.
They met at the gates of Anastas's estate when the sun was just beginning to rise, painting the sky in the shades of the coming day.
Anastas was already there with the horses. He turned around, hearing footsteps.
"You came after all," he said.
"Did you doubt it?" Thomas tried to smile.
"No."
The estates were left behind. Anastas did not look back. He knew that if he looked back, it would be harder to leave. Thomas turned around once. He saw the roof of his house, the trees. He gripped the reins and turned away, feeling an ache rising inside.
"They will be angry," he suddenly said.
"Mhm," Anastas replied.
"Mother will cry."
"Mhm."
"And Father... he won't say anything — he will understand."
Anastas looked at him more closely.
"You can go back."
Thomas shook his head.
"No."
For a while, they rode in silence.
"Do you regret it?" he asked quietly.
"No," Thomas replied.
They exchanged a glance. And in that look, something known only to the two of them flashed.
The road stretched ahead, winding, disappearing behind the hills. At first, familiar places flashed by—well-kept fields, smooth tracts—then came increasingly overgrown, untamed lands. Neither of them knew exactly where it would lead, but both knew that now they only had each other.